


The Runaways

by Sansastarklives



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-13
Updated: 2014-01-13
Packaged: 2018-01-08 15:49:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1134524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sansastarklives/pseuds/Sansastarklives
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Sansa Stark's family are killed and she goes on the run, none other than Petyr Baelish is sent to find her, but it seems as though he may have other plans on his mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Runaways

**Author's Note:**

> Run, run, run away  
> Lost, lost, lost my mind  
> Like you to stay  
> Want you to be my prize

 ”Hello, sweetling, remember me?” His grey green eyes seemed to sparkle in the dim light of the cramped room. Sansa leapt forwards, moving towards the small shed door but Baelish seemed to be prepared for any attempt at escape. His hand caught her arm and he spun her round, her feet losing balance and her body falling sideways against the wall, the whole place shaking as she did so. “Don’t bother trying to run, Sansa. I’ve spent the last three weeks trying to track you down, I’m not going through all that again.” 

      Sansa sighed to herself, fixing her clothes before stepping forwards towards him. “What are you doing here?” She asked, fear beginning to creep in around the edges, like a poison sinking into her skin. A smirk formed on his lips and he stepped forwards, forcing her back to the wall, his shadow casting over her. 

       ”Cersei Lannister demanded that I find you. She’s quite keen for your pretty little head on a spike. Figuratively, of course.” His head tilted to one side, his eyes raking over her. “Then again who knows? Grief makes a person grow mad and she is grieving terribly. She believes that you are responsible for the death of her son.” Sansa’s mouth dropped open. She had been there when Joffrey, her ex boyfriend, had died. She had seen his face turn hideous shades of purple as he clawed at his neck. She had ran, the memories of her own parents filling her mind at the sight. But she had not caused it. After feeling the pain of which only the loss of a loved one can bring, Sansa knew that she would never be able to kill and inflict that pain on another. Ever. Baelish hushed her sounds, shaking his head. “She has sent a pack to find you, dear. I just happened to find you first.” 

       Just then, a loud shattering rang from the Stark house which stood bare feet away. The shed was concealed by overgrown trees, only found by those who knew its existence, and yet any sound made now could be heard throughout the garden. “Have you found the little bitch yet, Baelish?” A voice growled in the distance. Sansa’s eyes widened in horror, she made to move, but Baelish pinned her back, his hand clamping over her mouth. He slowly shook his head at her, his ever constant smile in place. Sansa’s heart was drumming wildly against her rib cage, the beat audible in her ears: too loud for this silence. 

       ”She’s not here. Head back to the office, I’ll be there later.” Baelish shouted out at the stranger outside. An angry growl echoed out before thumping footsteps and finally the sound of a moving car filled the air. Baelish moved his hand from Sansa’s mouth, but stayed close, a thin layer of air separating the two bodies. Her brows raised in question and she made to speak, but the back of her throat was dry, and the words wouldn’t form and she had no idea what to say. He simply shrugged at her, as though what he had done meant nothing. As though he had simply stated the weather to her, nothing more. “Why are you looking at me like that?” He laughed. “Like I said, grief drives a person mad and their accusations mean nothing but air. You’re not going to die just because she misses her son, Sansa.” He huffed, finally moving away. 

       She gulped at the air, realising she had stopped breathing when she heard the shattered glass. “But why? Why do you care?” She asked. It didn’t make any sense, what did she meant to Baelish?

       ”Your mother was my friend. And I used to be like an uncle to you and your siblings or have you forgotten?” He teased. “I may have use for you get, Sansa Stark. I only have one question: do you want my help?”

        “Yes.” She didn’t even hesitate. He was the first person she had spoken to properly after Joffrey’s death and the only person to offer her any help, she would have been a fool to refuse it. He gave her a curt nod before gesturing for her to follow and leaving the shed. “Thank you,” she whispered. It was so quiet that she was unsure whether he had even heard it. 

        “We are going to travel up north. I have a place which I bought when your father promoted me. You should be safe there.” He turned sharply, Sansa bumping into him from the suddenness of the act. “But you won’t be Sansa anymore, understood? It’s not safe for Sansa Stark to be anywhere at the moment.” He gave a heavy sigh and continued towards the car, holding a door open for her. “Instead, you shall be Alayne… My daughter.” Sansa climbed into the car, processing what he had just said. Sansa stake had been branded a murderer. She had lost her family. She lived in an unsafe world. She was a somebody, and that was a dangerous thing in this game they called life. But Alayne? Alayne was nobody. She could be strong, much stronger than Sansa ever was. She still had a family, a father. Yes, Alayne would not be a terrible sacrifice, especially since she would know the truth. As would Petyr. She gave a small nod of her head and he smiled, seating himself in the driving seat. 

       Sansa, no: Alayne now, stared at the wing mirror, watching the childhood home of Sansa Stark grow smaller and smaller. It slipped from her like sand through fingers. A tear slowly trickled down her pale cheek and she wiped it away quickly, unwilling for Petyr to see her so weak. Alayne could be strong, she was losing nothing. “You should get some rest, it’s going to be a long journey.” He stated, before turning on the radio and directing his attention to the road. She nodded and curled up in the seat, tugging on the belt until she was as comfortable as one could be in a car. Her eyes grew heavy from exhaustion and she allowed her mind drift, watching the man driving her away from her troubles. She had known this man since she was a toddler, yet she didn’t truly know him. He had only ever been a family friend: an uncle to her. She remembered the years when he would visit frequently, until one day when she was eleven the visits had stopped. The Stark children were simply told that his promotion meant that he had moved away, but Sansa knew differently. She had seen Petyr and her mother fighting about Lysa, and Catelyn told him to leave. No more visits. 

       Uncle Petyr. Sansa almost laughed at this thought. This man looked nothing like one of her uncles, and somehow she didn’t imagine him thinking of her as his niece. Then again what other motive could he have for saving her. There was undoubtedly a motive. Loyalty to her mother? An act of betrayal against Cersei Lannister? His own personal gain? Only Petyr Baelish knew the answer and he would never reveal such personal information. Now, she supposed, an uncle was a more rational motion that a father. 

      She could feel his eyes flicker to her, a smirk growing on his lips. He opened the small compartment in front of the passengers seat and pulled out a fluffy, ash coloured blanket, quickly throwing it at her before returning his hand to the wheel. Sansa watched those hands for a moment, another memory flooding back to her. When she was around four Uncle Petyr had visited them. He had gasped at the sight of Sansa and picked her up, lifting her high into the air. He spun her around her view blurring, the ground seeming so far away. Flying. It had just been like the cartoons and she was in the sky. She had shrieked, the ground suddenly to far from her, falling becoming a possibility. He quickly brought her down, fighting wrapping his arms around her, assuring her she wouldn’t have fallen. She had felt so warm, so safe at that moment. 

      Here he was now, once again saving her from falling, but this time the danger was so much worse, and Sansa didn’t truly feel safe. But the memory brought a smile to her lips all the same and she closed her eyes properly and decided that he would not make a terrible father. She then welcomed sleep with a heavy sigh and fell to the darkness. 

 

     ”Wake up, love.” The voice was low in Sansa’s ear, something shaking her arm. She slowly opened her heavy eyes to see Petyr looking down on her, hands shaking her body to awaken her. She was sprawled along the car seat, her limbs stiff and aching from the uncomfortable position. “Have a nice sleep?” He smirked, turning his attention back towards the road. 

      Outside the dark was like velvet, stars sprinkled out across the fabric. She groaned a sound of agreement, but her head was thumping. She stretched out, placing her feet on the dashboard, humming a tuneless melody. Nothing could be seen but the stretch of road ahead of them and the endless trees at either side. She didn’t recognise any of this place and that was when Sansa realised that although Petyr said ‘north,’ she had no idea where they were actually going to. Or how long they’d be there. Or… Well, anything else really. “Where are we?” She asked, trying to make her voice sound as casual as possible. As much as she tried to ignore it, there was a voice at the back of Sansa’s mind telling her that he could be taking her back to Cersei for all she knew. 

       ”Between towns at the moment.” He replied. His tone was not harsh, but he was still not looking at her, watching intently the empty road ahead. Sansa sighed at that Sansa and tried another approach: where exactly were they headed to. Petyr sighed at that. “I told you I have a place up north.” But he was met with nothing but silence and a glare from the youth. “It’s called the Fingers. It’s a small town that is as far from London and I doubt any of Cersei’s men will be there, Sweetling. Don’t fret.” He turned towards her then. “But I can see you’re on guard. That’s good. You should always be on guard. Never trust anyone.” Sansa nodded her head thoughtfully. She didn’t need to be told not to trust people, after her father’s death, she had sworn off having faith in people. Yet here she was, running away with Petyr, a man she hadn’t seen in years… 

       ”What happens when we get there?” Was this permanent or temporary? Was Petyr going to leave her to fend for herself? Did he care what she did once they were there? Had he planned that far ahead? These were all the questions she wanted to ask, but couldn’t bring herself to and instead allowed them to hide behind those six words and a fearful glance in his direction. 

        Petyr rubbed his hand over his chin, scratching at his stubble. “We lay low for a while. We make our plan. Ready our attack.” 

       ”Our attack?” She repeated, brows merging. “What do you mean, Petyr?” He laughed then, as though these were things she should simply know. 

        “We’re going to take back your family’s company and make them all pay for what they’ve done. That is what you want after all.” His stare was harsh, his eyes dark, staring forwards. The smirk was gone. And Sansa just sat in shock. Home what was she wanted most, even if it meant she had to go the long way round. She then continued to spill out other necessary questions. When will we get there? What will we do about clothes and other essentials? And so on. After the dozenth question he began to laugh. “You’re very inquisitive. Right, where to start. It was take us a good few days to get to the Fingers. We will stop at motels each night in the meantime. In the morning we’ll buy a few sets of clothes, the rest can wait until we get to the Fingers. There we go. Anymore questions?” She thought for a moment before shaking her head, smiling. 

        They returned to silence, nothing but the quiet songs playing on the radio in the background. After an hour of this a small light appeared in the distance and as they neared she could hear Petyr sigh with relief, before his usual mask slipped on. A motel. As they pulled up, he turned to look at her with a stern expression. “This is when it all begins. You cannot slip up. You are Alayne and I am your father. We will sign in under the surname Stone incase we are followed. Okay?” She nods at his words. Alayne. Daughter. Father. Stone. Don’t mess up. It could mean your life. Okay. 

         The elderly woman behind the desk was nice enough. She remarked on what a beautiful daughter he had and how wonderful her manners were. She seemed genuinely sorry that they only had one room left when they arrived. “One room. One double bed. We’ve been quite busy tonight, there was a wedding in the town, you see.” She continued, showing them to their room. Once at the door, Sansa slipped straight in dropping against the bed, while Petyr thanked the woman and got rid of her. Nosy old thing, he muttered under his breath, rolling his eyes. Sansa wondered around the room, looking into the bathroom. A leaky shower, a toilet and a sink had all been cramped into a room barely bigger than Sansa’s old shed. One look in the mirror was enough to send her straight into the main room. Her fiery hair was a tangled mess, disguised as some kind of bun on top of her head. Her mascara had smudged beneath her eyes and her clothes seemed far too baggy on her slim frame. 

        Petyr had settled on to the couch, his hands folded behind his head as he watched the news playing out on the old, croaked television. “Oh, you should sleep in the bed, Petyr.” He shook his head and gestured for her to use it. “Honestly, I slept before in the car and you’ve been driving all day. Please, you sleep in the bed.” He once again shook his head and mumbled something about being more comfortable on the couch. Sansa slipped into the bed, still fully clothed and lay still, staring up at the dust covered ceiling. “Thank you,” she whispered. 

        “It’s only a bed,” he replied, switching off the television and closing his eyes. 

         ”No… Thank you for everything. Helping me. Planning to take back everything. Thank you.” Trust no one, she remembered, but it had only been a day and he had helped her more than anyone had since her real father’s passing. Heavy breathing from the other side of the room told her that her gratitude would go unheard, but maybe it was better that way. It was a weakness after all. 

 

    The smell of bacon wafted through the air when Sansa woke, teasing her nostrils. Her stomach growled loudly at the scent, churning uncomfortably. She hadn’t realised how hungry she was. Her icy eyes flitted open, focusing on the figure standing by the small, grey stained window. Petyr looked down on her, a small smile on his face. How long had he been awake? “Morning,” he nodded, moving to sit on the edge of the bed. “Breakfast?” Sansa nodded and he left the room, telling her he’d wait in the dining room. She quickly leapt out of bed and made some attempt to make herself more presentable. However she soon left her wavy hair flowing down her back and just straightened her clothing. Hungry had won out over vanity. 

         Petyr was sitting at a table a plate in front of him and another opposite. She dropped into the seat and shovelled the meal into her mouth quickly, moaning quietly as the greasy food slid down her throat. Once finished she pushed the plate away from her, grabbing at her stomach, feeling a fullness she hadn’t felt over the past few weeks. Petyr merely chuckled, slipping at his coffee, having finished his plate moments before. 

        “So what’s the plan for today then?” Sansa beamed. 

         ”Shopping. There’s a few clothes shops down the road where we can buy you a dress of two… Whatever other clothes you need. Are you ready to go now?” Sansa quickly nodded her head , taking the keys from him, running to sit in the car while Petyr paid the elderly woman and bid goodbye. 

        The small selection of shops was disappointing, but Sansa smiled along away. She walked ahead and popped into the best looking store while Petyr walked elsewhere. She picked out some underwear she three days and a few clothes. A pair of jeans. A white cotton shirt. A powder blue jumper and a loose lilac dress. Petyr walked into the store as she was trying the last one on. He knocked on the changing room door to make his presence known, sitting on the chair opposite. Sansa quickly changed into the jeans and shirt: more comfortable for a full day’s travel and meet him with a great smile.

        They walked to the counter in silence and the woman began to pack away the clothing into small white bag. As she picked up a pair of  powder blue underwear, Sansa blushed furiously. She tore her gaze away from the garment, instead staring at the floor, but she could see his smirk in the corner of her eye. When he had paid, she reached forward to take the bag but he swatted her hand away. No matter how much Sansa insisted otherwise, Petyr carried the bag, along with his own bag of clothing. She decided to stay silent, even after they had climbed into the car and began driving away. 

     He balanced the phone on his lap, occasionally glancing down at the online map, taking the directions when instructed. Sansa simply sat, feet on the dashboard, staring out at the view around them. Tree upon tree stood like soldiers shielding them from the blazing sun. Dust covered road spread out for miles ahead, taking them through a small number of villages, with ageing buildings and faceless strangers who stared at the couple as they passed by. They never stopped, driving ahead with an unknown destination ahead. The air was stuffy, the heat sickening in the small space and the silence was almost unbearable at times, the only sound the low rumble of the radio. They finally after a few hours when Sansa’s stomach growled loudly, Petyr chuckling in response, the car turning harshly at the sight of a petrol station. He handed Sansa the cash, giving her the chance to stretch her legs while he topped the tank. 

     The man behind the counter was only a few years older than Sansa. He had short blonde hair and ash coloured eyes, a flirty smile on his lips when she walked into the shop. “Number 4,” she gestured towards the car. He nodded his head, taking the money from her hands. She grabbed some sandwiches, drinks, other things for a lunchtime meal, pouring them onto the till. 

      “So where you headed from?” He asked, flashing her a toothy grin. “What brings you ‘round here?” Sansa chewed on the side of her cheek, anxiously. Don’t mess this up. 

       ”Just passing through.” She replied, flatly. 

        “That your father?” He glanced towards Petyr, slightly nervous. Petyr was standing beside the car, his narrowed eyes flicking from the couple back to his phone, an unreadable expression on his face. Father? Oh-

        “Yeah. He’s taking me on holiday.” It was strange to think of Petyr as a father. He was only a few inches taller than she was, with a lean body and clever manner. Whereas the man she pictured when she thought the word was the complete opposite. He was tall and strong, his arms wrapping tightly around Sansa in her memories. The man outside may be being called her father, but she would never be able to think of him as that. The boy nodded his head, leaning over so his face was barely inches from hers. 

        “Well, if you ever wanna get away from him, I work here everyday. You’re holiday won’t be boring with me around.” He winked, actually winked at her. She cringed, nodding her head and grabbing her shopping, leaving the store as quickly as possible, his gaze burning into her. As soon as she was sat in the car, he began speeding off. Petyr sat in silence, his jaw set, staring ahead with a hard gaze. “He asked if you were my dad.” She whispered, simply because it was something to say. “I told him we were going on holiday.” Petyr gave a curt nod. “I don’t know how anyone could live around here, it must be so boring! He told me that it probably won’t be a good holiday…” She almost told him about the other thing he had said, about going back to her, but something stopped her. Where was the line with him? What could she tell him without it being too strange? 

      “He wouldn’t stop staring at you,” he mumbled after a period of silence. “Even when you walked out. I think someone had a little crush, sweetling.” 

      “He didn’t hide it well, did he?” She laughed. “He wouldn’t be my type anyway.”

       ”He was similar to Joffrey and you were engaged to him.” 

        “Exactly.” She replied. Petyr smiled then, his expression returning to normal, the tension fading. “So how long will we travel for today then?” His lips shifted into a pout, his face thoughtful.

       “Until we stop.”

 

For the next two days they moved in a zig-zag path, _incase anyone was following_ , she had been told. No one would suspect them to make a journey that took several days when it could have been completed within one. The days played out the same: radio, small talk, heat, stopping for necessities, silence, finding a motel, Petyr on the couch, Sansa in the bed. Each place was the same: quiet, with roaming bodies who stared intently at the passersby. That was until the fourth day. They had stayed away from big cities whenever it was possible, but on that day they found themselves on the coastline. Sansa had been the one to notice the faire while opening the window to catch the midday breeze, and saw the flashing lights. She insisted they pull over, until Petyr got irritated and _finally_ agreed.

       “We are only staying for an hour- at the most.” He sighed, stepping out of the car. Sansa dashed towards the cotton candy stand, stuffing the pink fluff into her mouth, savouring the feel of it dissolving along her tongue, slipping down her throat. They made their way to the House Of Mirrors at the teen’s request. One mirror made Sansa’s figure squish into a four foot nothing frame, with a missing middrift. Another mirror transformed Petyr into an S-shaped man, his lips upturning in silent chuckle. A different mirror stretched out their reflection, but Sansa moved away from that quite quickly, vanity winning out over humour.

      Once she had grown bored of that room, she moved to the Ferris Wheel, pulling Petyr by the arm into the great, winding queue. After ten minutes they had moved around five footsteps forward, but the smile did not once leave Sansa’s face. After another fifteen minutes when they were halfway towards the wheel, Petyr’s phone began singing out. His face dropped as he read the name on the screen, turning away from Sansa, his voice lowering as he answered it, but she managed to get the gist of the conversation going on.

      “You got my email then? What do you mean elaborate? It was perfectly clear, Cersei.” He sighed, rubbing over his stubble as he usually did when deep in thought. “There was a map in the old shed. Yes… Yes, I did that… I know that already… South, definitely. She’d circled a number of places on the coast down South.” Another sigh. “Of course I checked that… There is a ferry leaving from each of them. She’s trying to get overseas.” Then there was silence from Petyr for a few moments. Sansa’s stomach was sinking further within her, her nails bit into the soft flesh of her palm and her teeth dug into her lower lip. Visions of Cersei finding her began to fill her mind. Each and every scenario somehow managed to end in Sansa lying dead in a ditch somewhere, cold and alone. But devious lies were spilling from Petyr’s expert lips and there were no signs of fear in his face or tone, and she found some comfort in that. “Noise? Oh, I’m driving through some kind of faire. Yeah…” He held his hand up at Sansa, mouthing for her to _stay_ , and he left the queue, disappearing in the great crowd.

      The view had been worth the wait, she decided as she ascended higher towards the pale blue sky, her seat rocking forwards and backwards gently, soothing her. The bodies below turned into small figurines, the buildings nothing but miniature blocks, the sea crashing out in the distance. The wind howled around her, brushing through her fiery locks, stroking along her creamy skin. Her lips split into a great smile and she through her hands up into the air, closing her eyes. The higher she got, the easier it became for her to fade away, melting at the edges, becoming part of the background, the sky, the sea, the faire. Today she was just another face in the crowd. There was no Cersei, no running, no hiding, no Alayne, no fear, no dead family, no fake father, no pain. She simply was. She was the breath in her lungs, the beating of her heart, the scents of candy and sea salt in her nostrils, the wind on her skin, the rocking of her body. But as the seat shifted back downwards time sped up and she was returning to the ground, each worry, each thought returning to her troubled mind.

      Petyr was nowhere to be seen when she left the ride. After a quick phone call, she made her way towards the homely bar named _The bird’s Nest._ Inside wooden beams lined the ceilings, cream wallpaper hugged the walls and brown woodwork lay beneath. Groups swarmed around the bar and tables littered around the room. Music blared from the young band in the corner. They weren't much older than Sansa, with short bright hair and easy smiles. The song was familiar to her, a cover of some famous singer... After an internal debate she moved towards the crowd dancing before the boys and found herself being swept in. Her body swayed sideways to the music, her hands hanging in the air, her head swinging while her hair swished about. She could feel the warmth of the bodies around her, moving in time to the rapid beat, an occasional clapping of the hands. She could feel someone's eyes burning into her and scanned the room for her running companion, smirking when she saw him. Petyr was seated at the side, hidden in the shadows, drink in hand, his gaze intent, following the way she moved. Sansa spun her way towards him, beckoning him over with one long finger. He quickly shook his head, planting himself firmly in his seat, even when she tugged on his hand. "Another time perhaps," he bargained. "Thirsty?" Sansa nodded, taking the drink from his outstretched palm, the bitter liquid burning the back of her throat, leaving a trail of heat down her chest. She spluttered, practically throwing the glass back down, shaking her head.

      "That. Was. Disgusting." She spat. Whiskey was definitely not her drink. "Too strong for you, sweetling?" He chucked, taking a large gulp of the drink, not reacting as his adam's apple bobbed up and down. "Why don't you go and buy a drink you can handle."

      At the bar she ordered a round of drinks, flashing a flirty smile when paying to ensure no ID check: it would be terribly embarrassed to be denied a drink because she looked underage, even if she was a few months short of legal. She slammed two shots and glasses down in the centre of the table. Sansa threw the vodka shot back, hissing at the bottom of the glass. This particular drink she had had plenty of history with. "What's wrong, Petyr? Too strong for you?" She drawled, when he continued sipping at his own drink. He sighed, tossing the shot back, clenching his jaw at the taste. "Is that all you've got?" He smirked, draining the last of his whiskey. A game then.

     Shot after shot was consumed by the pair. The infrequent whiskey or spirit. More drinks, the occasional slur of how one would drink the other under the table, a clever rebuttal from the other. This continued until the bar began to spin around Sansa, her head turning light, her balance weakening on the chair and her stomach began to twist. "I think... I think..." She leapt up, running clumsily towards the toilets, kneeling beside the toilet bowel, placing her head over it open mouthed. A pair of uneven footsteps sounded behind her, Petyr appearing by her side, hand tracing soothing circles on the small of her back. "Petyr, what are doing? These are the girls toilets." She moaned, the moment of sickness passing.

     "Funny, I didn't know the girl's toilets had urinals." A quick glance sideways confirmed the thought forming in her mind: how was she to know this was the men's toilets? She had simply been thinking not to be sick in front of everyone. "Are you okay now?" It was then that she noticed the slur in Petyr's own voice, the unfocused gaze of his dark eyes, the slight swaying of his knelt body. She gave a small nod and moved to stand, his hand wrapping around her waist, guiding her.

    "I think we should just find another motel room for the night... Can't drive like this." He mumbled in her ear as they walked towards the shining neon motel sign in the distance. It was dark, she suddenly realised: when did it get dark? When inquiring about a room, Sansa gripped onto the counter to steady herself. "I'm Alayne..." She sang to the person standing there. The woman asked about their night and Sansa giggled as though she were a schoolgirl. "I think my Father," she rolled her eyes towards Petyr. "Let me drink a little ickle bit too much." The woman gave a small nod of her head, dramatically gasping as though she were talking to a child, before handing over the key to the room.

     The bedroom was small, with nothing but a double bed, a table stand and a bathroom. "You take the bed," she instructed, pushing him towards it and lying down on the floor, grabbing a cushion on the way. His heavy breathing signalled the beginning of sleep and she smiled to herself, allowing it to take her too.

       After a few hours of tossing and turning, Sansa propped herself up on her elbows, looking around thoughtfully. A draft had crept into the room during the night, washing over her skin, prickling goosebumps all over her. She silently rose, lowering herself onto the bed beside Petyr, sighing into the warm sheets. "S-Sansa?" Petyr asked, turning sharply to face her. "What are you doing?"

        "Cold." She muttered, curling into a ball, her feet touching his leg in demonstration. "I didn't mean to wake you. Is this okay?" He gasped at the cool body beside him, giving a small nod of his head. He reached out to her, rubbing along her arm to warm her up. "Thank you." Her words were mumbled, eyes closed, body suddenly very close to his. She felt a scratch upon her forehead, his lips grazing a small kiss on her skin. She moved her head just as he did and suddenly their lips found each other's, melting together is soft embrace. The scent of booze and mint teased her nostrils, his warmth soothing on her skin. She pulled away quickly, a blush on her cheeks and she turned, drifting back into a dreamless sleep.

 

       When she woke the next morning, her head was screaming, her body feeling like a dead weight beneath her. Petyr, on the other hand, looked unaffected by the night's drinking, apart from dishevelled hair and a slight paleness of his skin. He was sitting at the edge of the bed, fully clothed, eyes fixed in the distance, sensing Sansa waking without looking at her. "We're a day behind now," he sighed, rubbing his palm across his stubble. "We might not reach the Fingers until tomorrow night."

       "We'd best get going then," she groaned, lifting herself out of the bed. On the bedside table a glass of water and two tablets had been set aside for her, she quickly took them, gulping the water in one, a  nod of appreciation in Petyr's direction.

     They travelled in silence, due to the hangovers plaguing the couple, the odd sound of pain leaving Sansa's lips, breaking the quiet, but only for a brief moment. The hours dragged by, taking them through winding roads and dizzying paths. The stifling heat like salt to a wound as Sansa fidgeted restlessly in her seat. She had been hungover before, a headache, a feeling or sickness, but nothing quite compared to how she felt that day. The shots, he had rasped when she voiced this thought. She promised herself that it would be a long time before she did shots again, the thought itself enough to make her feel worse.

      The darkness seeping into the sky was like a blessing sent from the Gods themselves to Sansa, as Petyr decided it was late enough and they pulled over to yet another motel. He withdrew a torn, yellowing map and tutted. "If we take this road," he tilted the paper towards her. "And follow this one, then we should get there by tomorrow night." She nodded her head and moved sluggishly out of the car and towards the motel, making no polite conversation with the employee, simply taking the key and following Petyr to their assigned room. This room was even smaller than their last, adorned with only a bed and pair of curtains at the stained plastic window. "I swear these places get worse the further we go from the Capitol," she muttered, dropping across the bed, laying on her front, head on hands. "So, the same arrangement as last night?" She asked, moving to one side of the bed, patting the empty space beside her. He made no move to protest and settled into his place, pulling the covers up to his shoulders, hands resting behind his head.

      "Why did you never visit?" The words simply slipped from her lips without her permission. Petyr's brow arched and he turned to face her. "You never visited once my Mother died, there was no one to stop you." He sighed, heavily, obviously disinterested in this conversation. She was about to give up when he took a stray piece of hair and moved it behind her ear.

      "I was planning to. I drove to your house one day and saw Arya sitting outside on the curb, she seemed angry. And then I saw you, walking outside towards her. You looked just like your Mother did when she was your age. I couldn't go in then, I didn't know you anymore, I just saw Cat and drove away."

     "Don't I look like her now?" A small, sad smile grew on his lips, his eyes unmoving.

     "More than ever." His voice had a strange to it, one she couldn't quite interpret, but she felt the sinking in her stomach all the same. "But like I said I didn't know you then. You, Sansa Stark, are not your Mother." And then he turned away from her, dismissing the conversation.

 

 

      The Fingers was nothing like Sansa had expected. Stores lined the streets, when they weren't disrupted by houses. Crowds filled the spaces between the cars, paying no mind to the couple as they drove through. It was so much louder than the tedious towns they had travelled through. It wasn't the Capitol, but it was as close to home as Sansa had been in days. His house was moderate, standing in the middle of a street, stone steps leading up to an old oak door. Inside was much bigger than she had been expecting. Grey walls, with minimum decorations and wooden floors was all the hallway offered. The living room had black furniture, a television, a bookcase, other usuals which could be found in a second home.

     Petyr showed her to her home and left for his own, the week's travels having drained him. Inside stood a grand four poster bed, a wardrobe and cream coloured window seat, in front of the view of a small garden. She lay down, exhausted, but sleep did not come easily to Sansa Stark that night. After a week of having another person near at all times, she felt strangely lonely in the big room. She shunned herself for that: he was only down the hall, but still that was further than he had been since they began their journey.

    She lay open eyed and sprawled out, clinging to the cushions for some kind of comfort, and only when the orange glow of sunrise began to creep across her form, did she close  her eyes and fall to the darkness.

 

     "Did you sleep well?" Petyr asked when  Sansa finally gave up and dragged herself to the kitchen. Petyr was still in his own sleeping clothes, dark shadows beneath his eyes, a coffee cup attached to hands. Maybe he hadn't slept well either. "It's hard to travel a lot," he stated, sitting opposite her at the table. "We can't stay here for long though. Cersei expects me to go South, check out the Ferry stations and inquire about a young girl travelling alone. When that search turns out to be fruitless, she will want me to follow any possible options. We can't stay for long at all, Sansa. We'll have to go abroad, but it won't be an entirely wasted time." He smirked. "I have contacts who owe me favours. We'll get everything back for you, Sweetling."

      "How long?" Sansa whined, throwing her head onto her crossed arms. Petyr began to talk about the months of work ahead, the hardships of certain person, but Sansa raised her hand to silence him. "No, how long until we have to travel again?"

     "Two, maybe three, days." She moved slowly towards the door. "I'd better get some sleep before we leave again." And disappeared into her room, lying there wide awake, willing for sleep to take her.

 

      Stars began to shine through clouds of dark blue, a silver moon gazing down at her. Crooked branches tapped on the window, singing along to the howling winds. Sansa sat on the window seat, her fingers tracing patterns along the condensation. When there was a storm back home, Rickon would crawl into her bed, snuggling into her until the sobs stopped. Now she was alone, no one to calm her when weather's worsened. No one   expect perhaps Petyr, but he was sleeping soundly in his own bed down the hall.

       She finally gave up and tiptoed out of the room, down the carpeted stairs and into the living room. The glow of the television lit up the room, the low mumblings of moving pictures on the screen barely audible, but it was better than staring out of that window, left with her own thoughts. It felt as though it had been years since Sansa had sat in her own home, watching television with her own family. It felt as though it had been months since she had been in the Capitol. It felt as though she had been running with Petyr her whole life, and in a way she supposed she had. Everything always had changed during Petyr's visits, well what she had thought of as change, nothing quite compared to this.

        "Sansa?" Petyr's voice echoed through the room as he rested against the doorframe. "What's wrong? Why are you down here?"

         "I couldn't sleep. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you." He shrugged, disappearing into the darkness without another word. Sansa stared at the space where he had been until he suddenly reappeared two glasses in his wine. A sparkling liquid splashed within the glasses as he handed her one, plopping down beside her. "I promised myself I wasn't going to drink again any time soon." Petyr ignored her, tossing the glass back in one, resting his head back, closed eyed. She followed suit, switching the television to radio and mirroring his movements.

        "What song is this?" He whispered after they had fell back into their usual song. "It's sounds familiar. Was this the song that played at the bar?" A smile split across her lips, memories of herself dancing in the crowded pub, Petyr refusing to join her...

        She leapt up, yanking on Petyr's arm as she did so. "You promised me a dance." She gave him the most innocent look possible, pouting her lower lip until he begrudgingly agreed, rising with a sigh. She placed her hands gingerly on his shoulders, his securing themselves on her hips. A chuckle left his lips as they moved awkwardly in time to the music. "If you're going to make me dance, then you have to do it properly." He moved her hands behind his neck, his own joining behind her, pulling her flush against him till their fronts touched, her head resting on his shoulder. With closed eyes they swayed their bodies side to side, slowly, gently, not moving from the centre of the room. The scent of mint and his cologne filled her nostrils, causing her to nuzzle into the curve of his neck for comfort. It wouldn't have been like this if he'd danced with me on the day of the faire, she told herself, a strange feeling of... relief, perhaps, coursing through her. She replayed the day in her mind, how it had started, how it had ended. How she had...

      "You kissed me," she whispered, moving her head to look him directly in the eye. "That night- you kissed me." He simply gave a small nod of his head as response. "But why?"

      "Must I explain that, truly?" He teased, but Sansa was in no teasing mood. She stopped the swaying, but did not break the two bodies apart, instead just stared intently into those grey green eyes. "You looked beautiful, curled up in bed like that." When Sansa did not reply, his expression darkened, his brows merging together. "I did not offend you by doing so, did I?"

       "I haven't decided," she smirked. "Do it again and I will." It took a moment for him to comprehend her words, but once he did, there was no stopping him. One of his hands rose to bury itself in her auburn locks, the other holding her possessively at the waist. His lips crashed down on hers, his tongue dancing against her own. A low moan sounded deep within her chest, her hands planting themselves on his own body. He pushed her backwards until her calves hit the couch and she came tumbling down on the leather.

      "Well?" He rasped, breathless. Sansa's hand grabbed at his shirt, bringing him down on top of her, his lips locked on her neck, leaving a trail of harsh kisses. His hands traced along her sides, lifting her nightgown with them, leaving her in nothing but her underwear, which he quickly disposed of with teeth and hands. His teeth nipped at pale skin, his lips suckled at bare breasts, his hands caressed milky thighs, sounds of approval escaping his smiling lips. Sansa tugged at his own clothing, discarding the garments until the two lay with nothing but the body of the other to cover them.

      Petyr's hips began to grind slow, lazy circles against Sansa, one brow raised in silent question. He was giving her the choice, but she had made her choice long before, when he had found her living in an old family shed. She wrapped her legs around him, heels digging into his back in answer. His hand slipped between them, positioning himself at her entrance, slowly entering her, inch by inch. A hiss slipped through grounded teeth as blood began to drip down her thigh. "You're so tight," he moaned into the shell of her ear, his hips pausing only when he was fully sheathed within her. "Are you... okay?" His eyes bore into her's, stop me if you must, but that wasn't what she wanted now. Instead her hips rose slowly, meeting Petyr's small thrusts, a pleasure seeping through the pain. He began to pick up pace, thrust met thrust, while lips melted together, and united moans filled the air.

        Her only thoughts were of Petyr and how perfectly he fit between her legs. Everything else, her past, her future, her family, her grief, her tragedy all slipped away from her as they had that day at the faire, but this was so different. That day made her fade along with those thoughts, but Petyr? Petyr pulled her back together, he made her feel more whole than she had felt in a long time, he gave her a blinding glow through her veins, he took her pain and gave her back herself. Each rocking of his hips brought her closer to her old self and further than she had ever been.

     His gasps filled her ear, lips occasionally pressed along her jawline, his fingers biting into her hips, forcing them to meet his frantic thrusts. His name left her lips countless times, heavy breaths which extracted moans from the man himself. She couldn't contain herself, her head shaking side to side madly as a she felt a tightening in her stomach. Her fingernails raked along the width of his back as she cried out in pleasure, her orgasm forcing her to arch her back up into Petyr, pulling him into the same bliss with a whisper of her name.

     They collapsed, breathless, sweat covered, sex scented limbs, entangled in each other. Petyr tenderly kissed her neck, his stubble scratching against her kiss. "So we have to leave again in two days?" She breathed, a small smile playing on her lips with thoughts of better motel nights playing in her mind. He mumbled a yes, teeth dragging along her jaw. "And we will take everything back?" Another mumbled yes. "And you'll help me run the company? I couldn't do it alone, Petyr."

      "You... won't... have... to." He whispered between each kiss.

      "I really have everything back?" A home, a business, a family in the form of Petyr Baelish.

      "Of course, sweetling. The world will be yours." And with that he kissed her lips. Their agreement had finally been sealed with sweat, blood and a simple kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry it's long- don't know how this happened


End file.
